So it begins: Post-NFA Angel/Buffy Fic--> From The Ashes (Chapter 1/?)
Chapter 1~ Burning Fire
She had known the moment it happened. Not because she felt like the earth had been ripped out from under her. Not because she could feel the bile rising up in her throat. Not even because her hand flew to her neck instinctively, fingering the tiny puncture wounds that could no longer be seen, only felt. She had known because in that instant, she was overcome with an overwhelming sense of abandonment, an emptiness so deep that it terrified her. She had only felt this once before, a lifetime ago, when she was seventeen and in Sunnydale and stood in an empty mansion. When she had killed the man she loved to save the world.
She had been having a drink with the Immortal at the Gilda Club when it hit her, and she nearly screamed. She felt it, deep in, and she knew, and she was terrified. She broke off her heels running home.
It was all over the news channels. The fire, burning through everything. The darkness. The hole in the earth. L.A. burned. She ran to the bathroom and vomited.
There was no answer to her frantic calls. Not from him. Not from Wesley. Not even from Faith in Cleveland. Always, just the ringing.
***
He had come to help her, to face the Apocalypse with her, side by side. Again. Always. But that wasn’t where she needed him. She needed him out there, in the world, fighting other battles, waging his own ferocious war against evil. Whoever wore the amulet would die. Some part of her had known that. She didn’t want it to be him. But she still had hope. Hope for a victory, hope for tomorrow, hope for a future where she was just a woman and belonged to herself and not the world. She didn’t really know who that woman was, but she wanted to find out. Maybe some day. She’d wanted him to understand that. Hence, the ill-phrased cookie analogy. Silly Buffy. Cookies? Really? But he’d understood. He wasn’t getting any older.
She had found it in Europe. The future she’d hoped for, the self-discovery she needed. The opportunity to have a normal life. Or, as normal as was possible for her. She still loved him. But she wasn’t ready.
When Andrew had been sent to L.A. to retrieve the rogue slayer, her orders had been explicit. No matter what he had to say to do it, he had to get the girl. She knew it would be a blow. She regretted that. She regretted making him think that she no longer trusted him, that she no longer knew him. She knew him. She had always known him, would always know him. He was working an angle. He was using Wolfram and Hart, even as they thought they were using him. He had a plan. But she wasn’t a part of that. She had her side of the world and he had his. No one from her camp believed he hadn’t been seduced by the darkness, not even Willow. It was easier to have him think she believed it too. She thought about calling and explaining the truth, giving him hope. She hadn’t called. She hadn’t dared.
He had been here. Not two weeks ago, they had been here. Her two souled vampires. When Andrew told her, she hadn’t known if she was glad that she hadn’t seen them, or disappointed. Now she didn’t know if she would ever see either of them again.
***
The next day, a letter came. He never did like modern technology. He’d written it all down, in case he failed and needed her to head up a second front. In his beautiful ancient writing, he told her everything. He knew he was walking into certain death. He still had faith in the world, because she was in it. He still loved her. He was sorry. She curled up and cried like when she was seventeen and he’d lost his soul. L.A. still burned.
***
The phone finally rang as she was packing a bag. Her heart nearly stopped by the time she answered it.
“Hello?”
“I hope you still got that handy fightin’ scythe of yours, B.”
“Faith? Where the hell are you?”
In a strange way, the familiar dry chuckle was almost comforting.
“You’re not far off. Hell, L.A., same diff.”
The silence seemed to stretch on forever. She didn’t dare ask.
“B, I think, I mean, I don’t really know but…..” She stopped, hesitating.
Buffy choked back a sob.
“Angel?” It was the only word she could manage.
“I think he may still be alive. Or, you know, undead. Whatever.”
A glimmer of hope, like a tiny warm light in the darkness began to glow.
“My flight lands at LAX at 3PM tomorrow.”
Faith sighed.
“No scythe then, huh? You’ll never get that thing through airport security.”
Buffy managed the tiniest trace of a smile.
She headed for the door, her heart squeezing painfully. Alive. Undead. Not ashes scattered in the wind. Whatever, whichever, he had to be that still. Still out there, in the world.
If he was, she would find him. Even if she had to drag him up from the bowels of Hell with her bare hands.
Chapter 2~ Wreckage
She had known the moment it happened. Not because she felt like the earth had been ripped out from under her. Not because she could feel the bile rising up in her throat. Not even because her hand flew to her neck instinctively, fingering the tiny puncture wounds that could no longer be seen, only felt. She had known because in that instant, she was overcome with an overwhelming sense of abandonment, an emptiness so deep that it terrified her. She had only felt this once before, a lifetime ago, when she was seventeen and in Sunnydale and stood in an empty mansion. When she had killed the man she loved to save the world.
She had been having a drink with the Immortal at the Gilda Club when it hit her, and she nearly screamed. She felt it, deep in, and she knew, and she was terrified. She broke off her heels running home.
It was all over the news channels. The fire, burning through everything. The darkness. The hole in the earth. L.A. burned. She ran to the bathroom and vomited.
There was no answer to her frantic calls. Not from him. Not from Wesley. Not even from Faith in Cleveland. Always, just the ringing.
***
He had come to help her, to face the Apocalypse with her, side by side. Again. Always. But that wasn’t where she needed him. She needed him out there, in the world, fighting other battles, waging his own ferocious war against evil. Whoever wore the amulet would die. Some part of her had known that. She didn’t want it to be him. But she still had hope. Hope for a victory, hope for tomorrow, hope for a future where she was just a woman and belonged to herself and not the world. She didn’t really know who that woman was, but she wanted to find out. Maybe some day. She’d wanted him to understand that. Hence, the ill-phrased cookie analogy. Silly Buffy. Cookies? Really? But he’d understood. He wasn’t getting any older.
She had found it in Europe. The future she’d hoped for, the self-discovery she needed. The opportunity to have a normal life. Or, as normal as was possible for her. She still loved him. But she wasn’t ready.
When Andrew had been sent to L.A. to retrieve the rogue slayer, her orders had been explicit. No matter what he had to say to do it, he had to get the girl. She knew it would be a blow. She regretted that. She regretted making him think that she no longer trusted him, that she no longer knew him. She knew him. She had always known him, would always know him. He was working an angle. He was using Wolfram and Hart, even as they thought they were using him. He had a plan. But she wasn’t a part of that. She had her side of the world and he had his. No one from her camp believed he hadn’t been seduced by the darkness, not even Willow. It was easier to have him think she believed it too. She thought about calling and explaining the truth, giving him hope. She hadn’t called. She hadn’t dared.
He had been here. Not two weeks ago, they had been here. Her two souled vampires. When Andrew told her, she hadn’t known if she was glad that she hadn’t seen them, or disappointed. Now she didn’t know if she would ever see either of them again.
***
The next day, a letter came. He never did like modern technology. He’d written it all down, in case he failed and needed her to head up a second front. In his beautiful ancient writing, he told her everything. He knew he was walking into certain death. He still had faith in the world, because she was in it. He still loved her. He was sorry. She curled up and cried like when she was seventeen and he’d lost his soul. L.A. still burned.
***
The phone finally rang as she was packing a bag. Her heart nearly stopped by the time she answered it.
“Hello?”
“I hope you still got that handy fightin’ scythe of yours, B.”
“Faith? Where the hell are you?”
In a strange way, the familiar dry chuckle was almost comforting.
“You’re not far off. Hell, L.A., same diff.”
The silence seemed to stretch on forever. She didn’t dare ask.
“B, I think, I mean, I don’t really know but…..” She stopped, hesitating.
Buffy choked back a sob.
“Angel?” It was the only word she could manage.
“I think he may still be alive. Or, you know, undead. Whatever.”
A glimmer of hope, like a tiny warm light in the darkness began to glow.
“My flight lands at LAX at 3PM tomorrow.”
Faith sighed.
“No scythe then, huh? You’ll never get that thing through airport security.”
Buffy managed the tiniest trace of a smile.
She headed for the door, her heart squeezing painfully. Alive. Undead. Not ashes scattered in the wind. Whatever, whichever, he had to be that still. Still out there, in the world.
If he was, she would find him. Even if she had to drag him up from the bowels of Hell with her bare hands.
Chapter 2~ Wreckage